


close my eyes (and see his light)

by nanasalt



Category: Anastasia - Flaherty/Ahrens/McNally
Genre: Also Anya's plotting her revenge you know she is, Enthusiastic Consent, Established Relationship, F/M, Gleb just REALLY wants to make sure Anya's having a good time, Note the rating, Oral Sex, PWP, and he succeeds, or at least that's how I'm assuming they got here, technically I guess this could be waaay post CTNP, this is pwp, you can fill in whatever backstory you want just know they're soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-20 15:13:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17025018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nanasalt/pseuds/nanasalt
Summary: “High collars might be in fashion, now," Gleb countered when he pulled back, catching her hand and holding it against his chest, and Anya rolled her eyes.“They aren't.” She leaned in to kiss him again, tried to wipe the self-amused grin from his face, and reminded him, “Lily will know that.”“The Countess Malevsky-Malevich has no room to judge." He skimmed his lips, the tip of his nose over her neck, but didn't quite kiss her again. "Besides, you'd look beautiful -" He pressed a kiss to her shoulder. "- in anything -" He scraped his teeth over her collarbone. "- even something with a collar."(Note the tags.)





	close my eyes (and see his light)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wolvesandgirls](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolvesandgirls/gifts).



> "There is literally not one (1) fic of Gleb going down on Anya like the pussy eating champ he is."  
> Well, now where is.  
> Title _shamelessly_ stolen from "We Kiss" from _Zipperz_. Check it out.

Parisian sunshine felt like someone had clumsily spilled warmth across Anya’s bare skin, more liquid than the sun in Russia had ever been. The blankets had long ago been kicked to the floor, but it had done nothing to ease the warmth running through her veins, though that might have had more to do with Gleb's fingertips trailing over her stomach and hips than the sunlight and late summer weather. They were both still languid from the last round of lovemaking, and Anya could feel the pleasant ache of muscles that had been used for something besides simple work.

Gleb leaned in to press a kiss to her jaw, then her neck, the faint scratch of day-old stubble against her skin a welcome change. That was the danger of these long, sun-drenched Sunday afternoons; with no real work to be done, it was too easy to end up wrapped up in each other and not worry about the passing time. In Russia, the ever-encroaching cold had brought a sense of haste, but Paris was different. Time itself felt slower, as though the idea of hurry was completely foreign, especially in moments like these.

“Gleb,” she protested as he nipped at her neck, and got only a chuckle in return. She nudged his leg with hers, frowned at him as he grinned. “We're going to dinner with nana tomorrow."

"I haven't forgotten," he assured her, and dragged his teeth over the soft spot beneath the hinge of her jaw. Anya hissed and tried to ignore the surge of heat it elicited, the color it drew to her cheeks, though from his smile, he hadn't missed a bit of it.

"I don’t want to have to wear something collared in _August_ ," she complained, and swatted at his arm. He laughed and propped himself up on an elbow, reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. The unashamed adoration in his gaze made her blush more firmly, and he laughed, leaning in to press a slow, not quite apologetic kiss to her lips, and Anya sighed and reached up to press a hand over his heart.

“High collars might be in fashion, now," he countered when he pulled back, catching her hand and holding it against his chest, and she rolled her eyes.

“They aren't.” She leaned in to kiss him again, tried to wipe the self-amused grin from his face, and reminded him, “Lily will know that.”

“The Countess Malevsky-Malevich has no room to judge." He skimmed his lips, the tip of his nose over her neck, but didn't quite kiss her again. "Besides, you'd look beautiful -" He pressed a kiss to her shoulder. "- in anything -" He scraped his teeth over her collarbone. "- even something with a collar."

“You're trying to flatter me," she protested, but her hand slid from his chest to the back of his neck, toying idly with his hair and holding him close. Gleb took the invitation for what it was, shifting closer until their legs tangled together and he could drop kisses below her collarbone, nuzzling into the space between her breasts. Anya could feel his smile against her skin, and she pretended to consider a moment before giving in, curling closer and pressing her leg between his; he moaned softly and nipped to the soft skin of her breast.

“Gleb,” she repeated again, though the tremor undid any warning to it, and he looked up at her innocently. Once upon a time, he had balked at meeting her gaze, frozen when she'd turned her Romanov eyes on him, but those days were past; now, he seemed to delight in holding her gaze, especially in moments like this, when he could use it to tease her.

“Yes, Anya?” Something about the earnest way he said her name always sent a shudder down Anya’s spine, and this time was no different; the surge of heat it elicited wasn’t any more unusual than the sudden urge to kiss him, the rush of affection. She trailed her nails down the back of his neck, caught the way he suppressed a shiver.

“What are you doing?” she asked, faux-innocent, and he chuckled and pressed a kiss over her ribcage. Neither of them, it seemed, had forgotten how thin she'd been the first time he'd seen her without the layers of winter clothing. There had been a brief fit of self-consciousness when she finally managed to keep a healthy weight, when her grandmother's dressmaker and clicked her tongue and bemoaned letting out such fashionably slim dresses, but the awareness had faded under Gleb's insistence that good Russians - and they were still that, if not loyal - wouldn’t care about things like Parisian fashion. He'd reminded her even firmly that that he didn’t care, dragging kisses over her skin the way he did now, like he couldn't believe she was here with him.

“I am,” he murmured, and shifted up until he could kiss her and nearly pin her to the bed, “making up for lost time.”

Once upon a time, Anya might've tried to squirm away, to regain her freedom and control, but that was easily pushed away in favor of soft kisses, of Gleb’s elbow over her shoulder and his fingertips skirting the scars on her forehead. Anya kissed him back and moaned when he pressed his thigh more firmly between hers. It was friction, though not enough, and she protested wordlessly as he laughed against her lips.

He laughed less when she ground up against him, broke into a moan as she caught his bottom lip between her teeth. He broke away to kiss down her neck, her chest, her stomach, and Anya realized what he intended a beat late, bit back a quiet moan as her head fell back against the pillow. Gleb stroked his thumb over her hip and shifted further down the mattress, kissed her hip, and pretended not to hear the protesting whine Anya shot in his direction as he settled between her legs and pressed a kiss just above her knee.

It was very different from the first time he’d tried, when she’d been so shocked she’d nearly slammed her knee into his nose in her hurry to regain her balance. Anya had assured him she knew how the world worked, that she could handle it, yet somehow this was the breaking point, the thing she couldn’t believe or comprehend. She’d been around enough of the sort of women who had nothing else to barter to know what men liked, how to use her hands and mouth to give and get what she wanted from them in turn, and when Gleb had offered to please her Anya had been desperately confused.

Confusion had given way to nerves had given way to delight and she knew enough now to know he was teasing, kissing up her leg, nipping at her skin, pressing his mouth everywhere except where she wanted him. Anya swore in Russian and ran her fingers through his hair before tangling them there, her nails dragging over his scalp, and Gleb tried to breathe around his moan.

Once, she might’ve been ashamed to be so bold, but Gleb had proven well enough that he didn’t care, that he liked it, and he used the hand at her hip to pull her closer as his tongue slid his tongue over her. Anya pressed the back of her hand against her mouth to suppress the needy whimper, though the muffled sound only seemed to encourage him; she could feel his smile, could see it in his eyes when she met his gaze. He held her gaze for a moment, only a flicker of insecurity to it, before pressing closer to trace patterns with his tongue until he had to break away to breathe, to stroke his knuckles over her thigh in a wordless reminder to relax.

Anya tried to do so, tried to ignore the coiling tension in her muscles and shot him a thwarted glare that almost melted under the soft heat in his eyes. He laughed breathlessly, slid his hand down until he could slide two fingers into her and Anya bit her lip to stifle the moan, and tried not to blush. It was hard, when Gleb dropped a kiss on her knee and steadily ignored her quiet, “more, please,” until she added a more impatient, “ _Gleb_ ,” and he buried his face between her legs again, let her twine her fingers into his hair and yank him closer. His free hand was at her waist, soft and reassuring utterly incongruous with the desperate way he ran his tongue over her and pressed his fingers into her.

It was the soft squeeze of his hand at her hip that finally pushed her over the edge; the reassurance that she was safe, that he loved her - he’d sworn it enough times against her skin that she could almost hear it - and Anya came with a stifled gasp, would have arched off the mattress if Gleb’s hands hadn’t held her hips down, if his mouth hadn’t still been against her, waiting until she stilled before he let up and pressed a kiss into the softness of her thigh.

Anya took a deep breath and traced her fingertips down Gleb’s cheek, gently coaxed him until he sighed and moved to drop kisses along her shoulder, until she pressed up on her elbows to kiss him. Gleb stroked her hip quickly, softly, and Anya could taste herself on his mouth, sharp and not entirely unpleasant, especially when he seemed so content to kiss her again and again, to drop little kisses along her neck and jawline.

“You’ll be the death of me,” he muttered against the hinge of her jaw, and Anya scoffed, wriggled herself free enough to throw a leg over his waist and roll to pin him to the mattress in turn, her legs bracketing his hips as she grinned down at him, relishing the heat in his gaze.

“Not this time,” she murmured, and leaned down to kiss him again.

**Author's Note:**

> Happily ever after in Paris, right? This was my first time posting smut, but I think I did okay with it. 
> 
> As ever, follow my tumblr for more updates and writing snippets at [vampyrekatwrites](http://vampyrekatwrites.tumblr.com/). If you want to see my more general fandom side, my Anastasia blog is at [nanasalt](http://nanasalt.tumblr.com/). Feel free to PM me or send asks! The interaction is what keeps me writing.


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